


Līgfāmblāwende

by D20Owlbear, Lurlur, robynthemagpie_writes, WyvernQuill



Series: The Problem With Saints [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is amused, Canon Compliant, Crowley is a dragon, Crowley is the OG laziness is actually efficient, Footnotes, Frankenfic, Gen, Princesses are badass tm, St George and the dragon, although any sufficiently big snake could be called a dragon back then, catholicism but make it funny, humans were the monsters we found along the way, low level evil and bad will, orthodoxy but make it funny, patron saint of losers, the problem with saints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynthemagpie_writes/pseuds/robynthemagpie_writes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyvernQuill/pseuds/WyvernQuill
Summary: What is a dragon if not just a really big snake?We present the true story of how St George vanquished the Dragon.





	Līgfāmblāwende

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seashadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/gifts).

> This is a gift for our good friend seashadows who has had a rough weekend and could use cheering up. 
> 
> The title is Old English and it means "Vomiting Flame"
> 
> Your authors today have been Lurlur, D20Owlbear, Robynthemagpie_writes, and WyvernQuill.

######  _ London, 2002 AD _

There was a  _ tone _ to the way that Aziraphale was stirring his tea and it was setting Crowley’s teeth on edge. Something was coming, something that he wouldn’t like in the slightest. He sipped his espresso before it had cooled sufficiently and regretted everything about agreeing to meet Aziraphale for coffee that morning. He pulled a newspaper out of thin air and began to pretend to read it studiously all the while carefully composing himself so that it didn’t seem like he was tensely watching Aziraphale from over it for any hint of whatever it was that made the vague dread pool in his guts. Aziraphale didn’t take the hint. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale began, confirming Crowley’s fear. “You told me about your, hm, interaction with St Patrick. Are there any other ancient myths you were involved in that I should know about?” [1]

The smugness rolled off Aziraphale in waves, emphasised by his peak bastard grin. One might be forgiven for thinking that it hadn’t taken him over well over a century to get up the nerve to ask his unwelcome question. Crowley huffed, grateful for the cover of his sunglasses.

“Not that I can think of.” He lied, angling his head in such a way that would convey utterly confident nonchalance and turned a page of the newspaper lazily. His spine, though slouched, was tense as an iron rod and the muscles at his sides quivered at the strain of continuing to put on the facade of nothing being out of place at all.

Pink lips pouted in disappointment. Crowley looked away.

“So there were no other saints that you might have encountered?  _ None? _ ”

Crowley was starting to get the distinct impression that he was being led into a trap. [2]

“You know we’ve both run into a multitude of saints over the years, angel.” Being vague seemed safest, confirm nothing and wait it out; eventually, Aziraphale would find something else to divert his attention.

“Yes, that’s true enough.” Aziraphale conceded the point.

“Look, that actor you like is doing a run as Hamlet. I could get us tickets if you like?” Crowley flipped the newspaper around so Aziraphale could see the article.

“Oh, yes! That would be lovely. Didn’t he do the voice for that dragon in those movies?”

If it were possible to sprain the optic muscles, Crowley would have managed it with the exaggerated eye roll he gave as a response. Aziraphale felt the projected disdain and giddily smiled, knowing he was on the right track. Crowley only ever projected feelings at him like this when he was trying to hide some other feeling underneath it. Like, perhaps, his desire to skirt around the topic because there was a silly story associated with being called a dragon...

“Yes, angel. He was also in the TV show with  _ that other man, oh you know the one _ , and the movies with  _ that young actor you’re fond of, the dear silly _ .” Crowley indulged Aziraphale’s daft descriptions of popular culture, but only with the most deeply sarcastic tones.

Aziraphale tutted and gave his little moue of displeasure.

“I was only asking. You know, dragons are your sort of thing. Wyrms, wyverns, serpents.” He said, pointedly.

Crowley looked over his glasses, realising that the trap had been sprung without him noticing.

“What are you getting at?”

“Tell me about St George, Crowley. I know it was you, there are  _ stained glass windows _ depicting an uncanny likeness of you, please, I’m dying to know!” 

Crowley pulled a face and downed the last of his espresso shots masquerading as a cup of coffee like an experienced college girl at a cheap bar. [3]

######  _ Silene, Libya, 295 AD _

Crowley was really getting into this fomenting business. He was living his best life; being a gigantic snake and terrorising an entire city of humans just by existing. [4] It was easy work overall, just a bit of basking where he could be seen, blighting some crops, scaring anyone who came to the lake for water, he could do it in his sleep. He was tempted to see if he could in fact mess around with his consciousness enough to do just that. Wasn't it sharks who did something in that line, turning half of their brains on or off to have a nap whilst swimming? He could do that whilst fomenting. That would be great. Wait, was it sharks? Maybe whales? Brain city, whales… [5]

Humans were so much more vulnerable when they were frightened, when food was scarce, when resources had to be shared. Nothing brought out the inner ugliness of the human soul like adversity. People turned on each other, squabbled in the marketplaces over substandard bread, and stole from their neighbours. Thousands of souls started a downward spiral towards damnation and Crowley barely had to move. He had found the future of temptations, he was sure of it. [6] Hmmm, maybe it was dolphins, the brain thing...

The first time sheep turned up, Crowley was more than a little confused. He’d been slithering around the western shore of the lake, scaring off some men who wanted to collect water, before returning to his customary lair only to find two sheep tethered there, bleating and grazing and generally doing sheep-like things sheepishly.

He coiled his body carefully, keeping his distance and watching the sheep. Surely someone would come back for them soon, he reasoned. A starving city wasn’t going to just leave two healthy sheep out by the lair of a giant snake monster. Downright irresponsible behaviour if you asked him, letting people go hungry whilst there were two perfectly good sheep tied up here.  [7]

The sun started to set and no one had been back for the sheep. Crowley was starting to think that he might have the wrong idea about the whole thing. He wanted to sleep and avoid the night chill and the sheep were bleating their distress almost constantly now that all the vegetation they could reach had been consumed. If snakes could shrug, Crowley would have. But they can’t, so he didn’t. 

He  _ did _ lunge at the sheep, snapping his jaws around the tether and tearing it apart. The idiot animals bolted away from him and into the gathering gloom, no apparent sense of direction was involved as they ran away from both Crowley and the city. Satisfied, Crowley slithered into his lair and curled up on miraculously warmed rocks. Maybe it was turtles? Hmmph, he would just have to indulge in some good old fashioned shut-eye for now and think about it all tomorrow.

The sheep were back when Crowley awoke; tethered and cropping the vegetation in a new spot near his lair. He considered them just long enough to recognise that these were not, in fact, the same idiot sheep from the previous day. This was an entirely new pair of idiot sheep. [8]

This revelation left Crowley with one uncomfortable conclusion: the sheep were a sacrifice meant to appease him.

These two halves of Crowley’s nature were at war with each other more and more these days; being a general nuisance and providing opportunity for humans to choose a sinful path was his purpose, but actively depriving people of their resources didn’t sit right with him. Because, of course, depriving them of resources wasn’t  _ evil _ , that was just happenstance. [9]

It was an impossible dichotomy to maintain though, even with Crowley’s advanced mental gymnastics. When he freed the beasts this time, he made a concerted effort to direct them back towards the city. [10]

This became part of his routine for the next month. Crowley would awake, drag himself out of his toasty cave, free the sheep, corral them towards the city gates like some monstrous shepherd, and then start his day of mischief. He hoped, rather secretly, that the people would see that the sacrifices were having no effect on his campaign of nuisance and blight. Yet, every morning, he was disappointed. [11] Despite the roaring success that he was able to report, Crowley had been giving serious consideration to calling it quits and moving on to a new target. The sheep were bothering him far more than he wanted to admit.

On one particular morning, Crowley awoke and immediately felt  _ off.  _ Something was amiss and, since he was lacking limbs or digits of any description, it took him a few minutes to put his finger on the problem. The now customary sound of two sheep grazing and bickering at each other was absent, replaced with something softer and infinitely more moving. Crowley ventured to the mouth of his cosy cave and peered out towards the spot he’d started thinking of as his unwanted room service. [12]

A girl was sitting on the grass, her knees drawn up to her body and her arms wrapped around herself. She was crying as quietly as she could manage and occasionally wiping her face on a sleeve.

Crowley winced. Most people cried to get attention - basic psychology, that was - but this was the type of crying that didn't want to get noticed at all, and only stuck around because the cry-ee couldn't bring themselves to stop.

Poor girl.

...woman? Something?

Human ages were so confusing for Crowley, he wouldn’t have known how to work out the maturity of a human past the obvious child stage. He could see that this girl still had something of the child about her, mixed in with those telltale signs of womanhood. Crowley did not like this development at all. Girls were most decidedly not sheep. [13]

Cautiously, Crowley slithered towards her but kept a safe distance, waiting for her to notice him; he didn’t want to scare her any more than he could help.

The girl, preoccupied with her quiet sobbing, did not notice him for quite some time.

After a few minutes had passed, Crowley began to grow frustrated at being ignored, and, in lieu of having fingers to drum dramatically on a rock (and also knowing his penchant for breathing fire accidentally when he coughed) he instead flicked the tip of his tail against some loose pebbles to draw her attention whilst staying in a non-threatening coil.

She still screamed.

Crowley waited it out. [14]

She screamed herself hoarse but she didn’t run. Crowley watched her with unblinking eyes, as still as a statue, exuding as much calm as he could manage. If he didn’t eat their sheep, he definitely wasn’t going to eat a whole human. The assumption was rather insulting when he really got to thinking about it.

(It was the kind of thing he'd expect Aziraphale to blindly parrot, actually. "Everybody knows demons eat little girls whole, Crowley!" and never even considering that it was all just the Divine Propaganda Machine. Stung, it did.)

The girl had quieted and her attitude shifted from abject fear into a kind of morbid curiosity. Resting her chin on her arms, she regarded Crowley and set her jaw with a determination that was in no way undermined by the tears on her cheeks.

“Are you going to eat me?” She asked after an age of silence.

Crowley pretended to think about it. [15]

“No.” 

That clearly threw her off. [16] She dropped her arms and crossed her legs as if a change of pose would help her make more sense of his answer. Her dress was of better quality and more expensive fabric than any other that Crowley had seen from the city so far. He sniffed, a flicker of his tongue in her direction for information gathering, she smelled clean and well-fed, healthy even. Despite his intense dislike of the situation they both found themselves in, Crowley had to acknowledge grudging appreciation at being offered nobility for breakfast. [17]

“Oh. The sheep didn’t seem to be doing the trick. We didn’t know what else to offer you.” She shrugged.

“Ssso they sssent a princessss?” Crowley mirrored her decreased tension, loosening his coils a little. “That sseemss quite the leap. Might've tried a stable boy first, work their way up the hierarchy and all.”

She laughed a sardonic little bark.

“There was a lottery, everyone was entered. Just my lucky day, I guess.” The bitterness in her voice betrayed her feelings regarding the fairness of the result.

“You might be right about that. Everyone elsse insside thosse wallss jusst condemned you to death. That’ss a sssin. Sself-ssacrifice iss ssstupid, but not sssinful.”  [18]

As solutions went, an entire city sending a teenage girl out to be eaten by a giant snake and therefore damning themselves as murderers would be a surprisingly elegant end to Crowley’s time in Libya. He could count that as a win and wander/slither off into his next assignment happily enough.

The princess looked thoughtful and adjusted her skirts absently. There was rather a lot of them.

“So, I could just leave?” She asked as if she was afraid of being overheard. “Go anywhere I liked and start a new life of my own?”

“Sssssure.” Crowley fell into the familiar groove of temptation, pouring images of faraway cities into her head.

“What would you do? Would you stay here and keep causing trouble?” 

“Eh." Crowley was really missing the ability to shrug. "I have done what I needed. I will leave.”

In all his many years on earth, Crowley never met a creature as unpredictable as a princess.  [19]

This one was no exception. She was on her feet in a flash and running  _ towards _ him, arms open as wide as the smile on her face. Nobody had run  _ towards _ Crowley since that farmboy who had trouble keeping his left from his other left.

“Thank you, oh thank you, Mr Dragon!” The princess wrapped her arms around his neck, just behind his jaw.

It was, by far, the stupidest thing he’d ever seen a mortal do, and he'd been there when Job had famously turned his eyes Heavenwards and said "what's the worst that can happen?", only surpassed by the subsequent even-more-stupid "well, it can't get any worse now!"

Despite himself, Crowley bent his head and did his best to return the embrace. The poor thing seemed touch-starved, why else would she be so willing to try and cuddle an enormous, dangerous snake? A city that could make someone like this and then throw them away in the name of sacrifice didn’t deserve any kind of salvation. Crowley aimed several pointed thoughts at the city, daring it to piss him off by continuing to exist much longer. [20]

“Fair maiden! Fear not!” Some shiny loser on a horse had crested the small hill behind Crowley’s lair and got all kinds of wrong ideas. Oh, wonderful. A do-gooder, here to do good deeds.

“Oh! No, it’s OK! I’ve got this, really.” The princess tried to wave him off, smiling.

“The foul beast has you under his control! I shall vanquish him and rescue you, good lady!”

The melodrama was giving Crowley a headache. As was the light reflected both by the armour and the teeth in Sir-What's-His-Face's blinding smile.

“Really, I’m OK. Uh. My brave knight. I don’t need rescuing.” She stepped away from Crowley to show that she wasn’t restrained, nor being nibbled on even the tiniest bit.

That turned out to be a bad idea. The tosser on the horse nocked and loosed an arrow far quicker than Crowley had thought was possible.

“Ouch! Oh, you bassstard!” Crowley reared up to examine his injury, fully reconsidering his stance on eating people. At least the kind that came in shiny metal tins.

“Silence, beast!” He spurred the horse into a gallop and drew his sword, which was big enough to be overcompensation for  _ something _ . Likely the sword. It wasn't even flaming or  _ anything. _

Crowley had the distinct impression that he was about to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, that arrow wound stung like a bitch and this particular brand of knightly idiocy looked like the type to have had his sword blessed. Crowley really didn’t fancy turning up in Hell, discorporated and injured. There would be  _ inquiries. _ [21]

So he did what any self-respecting snake monster in such a dreadful pickle would do: he frightened the living daylights out of the horse.

Predictably, the horse came to a sudden stop, reared so far up that it fell backwards onto its rider, and then bolted away, dragging the man a few hundred feet by one ankle. Unpredictably, the princess laughed so hard that she actually snorted. Crowley liked her a little more for it.  [22]

“Look, Mr. Dragon, I’ll get us out of this, OK?” 

And that was another surprise. The plucky little princess offering to save Crowley? She’d never manage it, of course, but he was deeply interested in watching her try. He’d make sure she was safe if it all went pear-shaped, with a little demonic miracle if necessary.

The man limped back into view, his sword still in his hand but otherwise looking all the worse for his experience with the horse. He was going to have a Hell of a time getting out of his dented armour, especially since tin openers had a few centuries to go yet before being invented.

“Vile serpent! Release the maiden!” He pointed the sword at Crowley, the tip carving a figure-8 in the air as he valiantly struggled to hold his arm up.

Crowley bared all of his fangs and hissed over the princess’s head. She stood, rock-solid and unafraid. (Later, Crowley would have some unpleasant thoughts about what it meant that a human girl was more afraid of a man trying to help her than an evil snake.) She untied the cord that wrapped around her waist and threw it up over Crowley’s head.

“Behave.” She hissed to him and winked.

Obediently, Crowley sank to his belly and affected his most gentle snake-expression. [23]_Look_ _at me I'm a harmless noodle, come and boop my snoot._

(Regrettably, no snoot-booping commenced, which was a shame, because it was a very nice snoot and imminently boop-able.) 

The princess walked towards the knight, graciously ignoring the way his knees were wobbling and leading Crowley as if he were nothing more than a pet.

“Look, I have tamed the beast with my girdle. You may sheathe your sword, sir.” Crowley worked hard to suppress a giggle. “I am Princess Sabra of Silene.”

Shaking hands managed to guide the sword back into its scabbard before the knight bowed far deeper than was necessary.

“I am George, at your service, milady.” He glanced up from his bow, remembering how foolish it was to turn his back on giant snakes. Even half a shoulder was risky. “Are you sure you don’t need me to, ah, dispatch that for you?”

Sabra leaned down and stroked Crowley’s enormous head.  [24]

“This sweetheart? Oh no, he's a darling. D'you want to pet him?"

George did not seem like he would.

"Well then. Kindly just escort us back into town, if you please?”

Crowley could think of a million places that would be safer for him than within the walls of Silene, so he tugged at the leash reluctantly, getting Sabra’s attention. She winked again and Crowley started to wonder at the wisdom of trusting strange princesses.

George offered his arm to Sabra - less for her sake, and more because the knight was limping rather terribly and rather needed someone to support him - and the three of them started back towards the city.

It became apparent almost immediately that George was a recent religious convert and he preached to his captive audience with all the fervour of the Righteous(™). Oh, Heaven probably  _ loved _ the bloke. Give it a century or two, he'll be a saint yet!

Thankfully, the fanatic babbling was easy enough to block out, Crowley had a wound to heal after all, but when George started on about the God-given power inherent in the girdles of virgins, Crowley lost the last scraps of his self control. [25]

He laughed himself straight out of snake form and into one far better suited to the kind of bone-deep belly laugh that he needed.

“ _ Magical virgin belts! _ Oh Satan, you lot will believe anything!” Crowley had tears running from his eyes which was the only reason that it took him as long as it did to notice that George had fainted in shock. 

Sabra let go of the leash and nudged George with her toe. He let out his groan, and his armour a pathetic creaking sound.

“They don’t make knights like they used to.” She said, rather sadly.

“Well, now’s your chance, princess. You can still run away.” Crowley extracted himself from the loops of cord and handed them back to her. [26] “You don’t want to go back, trust me. S'no life.”

“Hm. But I rather think I have to, now. Someone will have to explain it all.” She looked at Crowley properly for the first time, eyebrows climbing steadily up into her hair the longer she did. “What manner of creature are you, actually?”

“Uh. Er. I’m a… that is to say... m'a'demon." He said hurriedly. "Don’t let that change your mind about your future though! I'm from Hell, sure, but that's how I know how terrible it is, working for ungrateful idiots who'd sooner throw you into the Deepest Pit - or a dragon's jaw - just because you asked for one measly week of paid leave."

Sabra thought for a moment.

Then, with the same stupid forcefulness, she lunged, and wrapped him in a hug.

“Well, you owe me a favour now, don't you?" She mumbled into his solar plexus, which is about how far as she could reach. [26] "Tell you what, I go and explain this, and in three day's time, you come back and break me out. I’m going to see the world - and  _ you _ are going to take me!”

Crowley should protest. Tell her no, he had better - well, worse, he  _ was _ a demon, after all - things to do.

He really, really should.

  
  


…..aaaaaany minute now…..

######  _ London, 2002 AD _

Crowley lifted one side of his shirt to show the faint scar left by George’s arrow. Aziraphale looked as though he might explode; his lips were pressed into a thin, pale line and his eyes were near bulging. He finally allowed a burst of air to escape his mouth, the breath he’d been holding for over an hour.

“Oh, my poor d-dear.  _ >snort< _ That sounds positively dreadful!  _ Hehehe!  _ That’s a very nasty scar.  _ Fell right off his horse! Ha! _ That, er, is to say, I am  _ ever  _ so sorry, Crowley.” His eyes were running with tears of mirth whilst he managed to keep the rest of his face arranged in a mask of concern.

It wasn't particularly convincing.

“Yes, yes, it’s very funny, har HAR. St  _ bleeding _ George fainted at the sight of me and still gets all the credit. Do you know how many countries he’s the patron saint of? Ten! The whole city converted to Christianity! All my work was for nothing.” Crowley lowered his shirt and folded his arms for a good, long sulk while Aziraphale got his giggles out.

“Teehee- oh, now, wait a minute." Aziraphale frowned. "Sabra? Wasn’t that the name of the old woman who made us tea that time? Oh, when was it? 342, in Catalonia?”

Aziraphale didn’t miss much, Crowley remembered a little too late.

“Uh, can’t recall.” Crowley lied, suddenly becoming very interested in his coffee cup once more.

"Impertinent woman!" Aziraphale huffed. "Rather like that princess, actually."

"Mmmmyeah."

"And all the snake jokes! ...most of which were perfectly unsuitable for polite conversation."

"Ngk."

"Peculiar, most peculiar. Seemed to have heard of me before, too."  [28]

"NGK."

"And rather tactile, always hugging you. Improper, is what it was!" [29]

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. ...yeah."

"And, with the timing, surely it  _ must _ have been…"

"HAMLET!" Crowley shot up from his seat. "Theatre. Play. Actor. NOW. C'mon, angel."

As he stalked brusquely towards the door, Aziraphale allowed himself the tiniest of smirks, before snatching up his jacket and following him.

Together, they went to the theatre, and nobody mentioned the sordid matter ever again.

(Except for Aziraphale's mysterious cough, which rather sounded like  _ coughgeorgedragonvirginbeltcough _ , but that was purely coincidental and another matter entirely.)

  
  
  


######  _ Footnotes _

[1]Aziraphale, of course, knew of his stint in Mesopotamia as Siduri, his run-in with the snake goddess Mansa Devi in India (who he seemed to have fond memories of generally), the creation of the ouroboros after being caught with an itchy tail and no hands to itch with, and being bothered from one of his many-year naps at the top of a mountain (inside a lush forest, at the tallest point, on a flat soapstone rock to soak up heat during the day to remain hot during freezing nights, which was overrun by wild animals and treacherous for humans to get to) by many different humans seeking enlightenment or something or other. He generally told them each something different, though there was one lad who’d brought him a fresh doe so he ate that and told him about the stars in truth.[return to text]  


[2]Being a snake, his senses in regards to traps, being led into them, finding himself in one, worrying that there was one waiting for him, was very finely tuned. No matter how rarely he felt such things coming from the angel, well, this  _ particular _ angel, who was often someone he could go to in order to get  _ rid _ of that horrid phantom sensation of his scales crawling up the back of his neck - much the same feeling a human might have when the soft hairs on the back of their necks and arms raised in warning.[return to text]  


[3]Crowley has, of course, been a woman who looked vaguely college aged (among other things) in dive bars and downed enough shots to kill a man. He hasn’t done this in a short while, last time was in a particularly self-destructive spiral sometime around the 90s just after the Antichrist had been delivered, and Aziraphale had had to come pick him up and scolded him about drinking the cocktail equivalent of rubbing alcohol all the way home.[return to text]  


[4]Gigantic was, of course, a specific description of size relating to the Nephilim, it meant that he was at least 5 Gigants in length and (of course) would be able to devour a Giant whole in a single bite. Suffice to say, he was enormous and  _ very difficult _ to overlook. [return to text]  


[5]He wondered about whales for nearly a whole day, if they had brain cities, did that mean their thoughts travelled like little humans, carted around in carriages and off to do silly, important things and were concerned about eating and becoming famous?[return to text]  


[6]Sure, Dukes Hastur and Ligur and some others wouldn’t be into the upcoming trend of fast fashion esque temptations or even like the way the world grew adspace like it grew plants in the future (or better than plants by that point) for a constant hum of temptation of things people didn’t need to fill voids of soulspaces to make up for the slow isolation of humans. But factory production of evil was far more efficient and less stare-into-your-soul-as-the-light-leaves-your-eyes personal like other Hellions were wont to do. Crowley didn’t do personal anymore, didn’t like it.[return to text]  


[7]That he could  _ eat _ the bloody things never even occurred to him. Ghastly meals, sheep. Mostly fleece, anyway, and that was terribly hard to get out from between your teeth if you didn't currently have any appendages other than a tail.[return to text]  


[8]Calling them idiots was a dreadful generalisation, really, since one of these two just so happened to be the smartest sheep to ever live, a regular woolly Einstein in fact, and if it would only manage to acquire the power of speech somehow, the herding business would never be the same.[return to text]  


[9]True evil required resources to flourish so people could choose good, evil, or the lesser of the two evils presented. Crowley very much enjoyed being the lesser of the two evils, it was chosen more often and still managed to be good enough, or rather, bad enough, to make his reports back down Below seem like he was quite good -  _ bad  _ \- indeed at this fomenting of chaos and evil! [return to text]  


[10]The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to eat them. All that fleece, hell on the fangs, and the horns that could cause all sorts of damage to a delicate snake… dreadfully unappetizing.[return to text]  


[11]This was, in part, due to the fact that the villagers didn't quite realise that their sheep were being returned to sender without so much as a nibble. Sheep - even Woolstein, smartest sheep of them all - looked remarkably alike, and they were simply pleased their herds didn't seem to be dwindling too much despite the regular sacrifices.[return to text]  


[12]More than once, Crowley wished that "do not disturb" signs had already been invented, and he could put a big red one in front of his cave. Blinking neon letters and all.[return to text]  


[13]Crowley, being more or less Aziraphale-sexual, would never claim to be an expert on human females; but this, at least, he knew, even though he couldn't point to an oestrogen molecule in a crowd of one.[return to text]  


[14]Took a while, too. The lungs on the young lady were quite frankly impressive, and Crowley reflected in later years that she would have been a gift to Opera had she been born into different times. What Crowley did not know was that one of her later reincarnations, a Ms Gertrude Campion, would, in fact, have wonderful success performing as Brünnhilde in Wagner's  _ Siegfried _ . Critics agreed that the young lady could have had a truly remarkable career 'given that set of bellows', and might demand any role she so desired. Curiously, Ms. Campion never felt drawn to any other positions in the world of musical dramatics, and her standard response when politely refusing a part was always simply 'But there isn't a dragon in it.'[return to text]  


[15]Look, you have a Reputation as The Big Bad Snake, you don't let on that just the thought of eating a little girl makes you pale and a little wobbly in the knees you don't have.[return to text]  


[16]While the snake was a whole 5 Gigants in length and it’s teeth were easily her size or bigger. Plus it talked, no one said the dragon  _ talked _ , so maybe they forgot to mention other stuff too. Maybe they were wrong, said it was a great and terrible beast, but she couldn’t help but think it was pretty, shining black scales brought to mind black pebbles in the rain and the yellow eyes made her think of the kitten she’d hidden in her rooms that she’d unimaginatively named Sir Cattington Pounce-a-lot the Third (though there hadn’t been a first or second).[return to text]  


[17]It was a little like being offered the most magnificent three-tier peanut-butter-and-chocolate cake as someone allergic to nuts. Impressive, gorgeous, thank-you-very-much, but ultimately there would be no consumption of the goods taking place.[return to text]  


[18]Crowley was rather beginning to hate his sibilant voice, and started to give serious thought to switching forms. Legs were a pain even on the best days, never mind all that hip business, but at least he didn't lisp every time he attempted a word containing an s-sound.[return to text]  


[19]Came from all the inbreeding in the royal families, as well as the accumulated curses of quite a few common witches taking revenge on the current management over some minor political affair or other; you simply didn't know which way an individual with more curses on their head than distinct grandparents would jump.[return to text]  


[20]He was seriously tempted to send Sandalphon an anonymous tip-off. Have him…. handle the situation, smiting and salt and all.[return to text]  


[21]Seeing as Hellish inquiries usually featured at least one torture dungeon, Crowley would really rather go without.[return to text]  


[22]Which isn't to say he didn't like her a great big deal already. Crowley had a soft spot for little tykes, and simply that she hadn't been bleating like his usual sacrifices had already earned her a commendation in his book.[return to text]  


[23]There was still too much tooth in it to look entirely docile, but snakes didn't exactly have the widest and most nuanced range of expressions to choose from, did they?[return to text]  


[24] Crowley, of course, did  _ not _ make a rumbling hissing sound that could be likened to a purr at the gentle head scratches. That would have been  _ ridiculous _ .[return to text]  


[25]Aside from the general silliness of the idea, Crowley could personally attest to virginity making you no more Pure than a good bath did. He hadn't yet… well, he was rather saving himself for Aziraphale, wasn't he, and that didn't make him any less demonic, or more suitable for the kind of rituals that required virgin's blood. (Sometimes, he snuck some of his into the local wizard's supplies, just to watch the whole thing hiss and fume and produce a quite colourful explosion.)[return to text]  


[26]It might not have magical properties, but Crowley was sure the thing had SOME function when it came to holding Sabra's dress up.[return to text]  


[27]Sabra, though great of spirit, was rather less great when it came to actual, physical height. Crowley presumed she might grow still, he heard they usually did.[return to text]  


[28]Here follows a transcript of their first conversation:

Sabra: "Oh, you're HIM, then! He's told me SO MUCH about you!"

Aziraphale: "...I beg your pardon?"

Crowley: "nnnnnnngkshutup."[return to text]  


[29] Aziraphale spent half a century huffing about young - well, old - ladies nowadays, preying on doe-eyed young demons who didn't know better - a disgrace, truly.[return to text]  


**Author's Note:**

> We have a collaboration discord now! If you want to join our Good Omens themed madness, drop us a comment!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gach beannachd dhut](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571159) by [Starryfull13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starryfull13/pseuds/Starryfull13)


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